


wishbone

by Anonymous



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Transfer Window Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8328487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: People can't just keep things this good.





	

It started when it was already about to end and there was never anything Simone could have done to stop it. His best friend would joke about it, say he was doomed the moment he looked at the Spanish kid. Resilience had never been one of his strong qualities.

The problem was, the source, at least, that he became accustomed to Álvaro too quickly. It’s not even what their relationship became, not the ‘could have beens’, but it’s the familiarity of how Álvaro fit into the empty spaces of his life without even asking if doing so was okay to begin with. Simone became used to seeing him every day, most of the time of every day, and it had been effortless to do so. Álvaro smiled and joked and carved his way inside of him and ‘Cisco had been right, after all. He was doomed as soon as he laid eyes on him.

 

 

_Weeks stretch into months and they have a routine. Álvaro picks him up in the morning and they train together, eat together, play together. When it’s over they go back to Álvaro’s place, they cook or play videogames or talk and the whole time Simone wishes they’d stop doing that so much, wishes they’d get some room to breathe and some time off each other because in their world this kind of shit doesn’t last. At night, Álvaro drops him off and they stare at each other for moments that feel like ages and Simone doesn’t know if he wants to do something about it or not; if he wants to shake Álvaro and tell him to stop looking at him like that, to stop smiling so much and doing the thing with his eyes or…_

_But nothing ever happens. The next day he wakes up, sees Álvaro, repeats._

_It’s a fucking bitch of an unsatisfactory situation._

 

 

He really tries to keep up appearances even though he doesn’t have to. Not to his friends, not to family or colleagues or his goddamn girlfriend.

He plays football, half decently, professionally, and it’s not like the two of them were ever Pirlo and Gigi to begin with. No one would bat an eyelash if they would just stop talking after they go their separate ways, different teams and different cities. His teammates at Juventus would notice, but doesn’t play for Juventus anymore, and neither does Álvaro. He’s back home, the place he always dreamed of playing even after they kicked him out, and Simone knows this, knows him. He knows even if Álvaro had never said so, because that’s how well he’d come to know him.

He doesn’t blame him, not when he has so much on his mind, fighting for a starting spot in the biggest club in the world. So he lies.

“Have you talked to Álvaro lately?” Chiara asks one day, head on his lap as they watch some stupid cop movie on TV.

“Yeah, sometimes,” He answers without taking his eyes off TV, keeping his voice even because she is his girlfriend, yes, but she doesn’t know him enough to notice when he’s lying through his teeth. Or maybe she’s smarter than he thinks, and just turns a blind eye. He doesn’t care enough to find out.

“So… How is he doing?”

He has to hold back the urge to sigh. “He’s fine, busy… We mostly talk football.”

“Figured,” She chuckles. “Alice wants us to hang out… It’s been a while. Maybe we could fly over to Madrid when you have a couple of days off.”

She’s trying for indifference but failing spectacularly, so he just hums an answer that is no answer at all. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly terrible, in the sense of being a huge asshole, he thinks that maybe his stupidest move was going for the girl who’s best friend with the girlfriend of the guy he’s hung up on. He mentally kicks himself every time the thought surfaces.

“She thinks… Maybe he might propose. Soon.” She presses, movie forgotten. He can’t hold back the bitter chuckle this time. “What, what’s so funny about that? They seem pretty settled.”

“Yeah, no. Sure, maybe they are.” He says, tries for a smile.

“You haven’t heard anything about it from him?” She finally drops the question on him, the one she wanted to ask since the beginning of the conversation.

“Not really, sorry.”

“Well, it’s not like you’d tell me anyway.” She smiles, he smiles back. He doesn’t tell her it’s been three weeks since they’ve even texted.

 

 

_“Man, Rick is a fucking idiot if you ask me,” Simone says, partly to annoy Álvaro, mostly because it’s true._

_“He’s trying to do what’s best for everyone, okay? Gotta be stupid sometimes.” Álvaro predictably defends the guy. They’re halfway through the third season of The Walking Dead, enjoying their day off before the next Juventus game._

_“Whatever you say, man. I’m getting a beer.” He says, pushing Álvaro’s feet off his lap and walking around his house with the same familiarity he’d walk around his own. He flips Álvaro off when he him to bring him one, too, but grabs two bottles anyway._

_“Fuck, I’m starving. I’m fully considering pizza because I don’t feel like getting up and you have nothing edible on your fridge.”_

_“I’ve seen you eat past for breakfast, man, shut up.” Álvaro laughs, but he’s already dialing their favorite pizza place. God, they have a favorite pizza place. Simone watches as he orders, and it’s such a small, stupid thing that he knows his favorite, such an unimportant detail that anyone who spends every waking moment with him would know, but still makes him feel something._

_“You’re paying.” He says, cheeky._

_“Fuck off.” Simone responds, matching smile on his face. He feels stupid, but Álvaro has that effect on him, acts as if everything is an inside joke between them, as if he’s letting Simone in on a secret._

_Álvaro presses play, throws a pillow on Simone’s lap and lies down, like it’s nothing. Like they do this every day._

_Simone cards his fingers through brown messy hair, and he wonders if he’s the only one playing chicken, or if Álvaro just accepts it because he’s used to it._

_They stay like that until the pizza arrives._

 

 

His phone rings on a Thursday and he’s exhausted enough not to look at the ID before answering.

“Did you know there’s a Pokémon that looks exactly like you? It’s so ugly.” His voice comes through the line and Simone has to do a double take to confirm what he already knows.

“I love how you call me, like a caveman, by the way, haven’t you heard of facetime? And then you just outright insult me.” He answers, but he feels the stupid smile breaking his strength and finding its way to his mouth.

“How’s Premier league treating you?” Álvaro mocks, sounding delighted that they’re finally talking, as if he hasn’t bothered to say hi in weeks.

“How’s the bench treating you?” He retorts, no heat behind his words.

“I get pretty good seats at Champions League games, can’t complain.” Álvaro says, and he can picture the cheeky smile perfectly. God, he misses him.

And so they talk. Mostly games, adjusting and readjusting. Simone complains about London and Álvaro talks about when Ronaldo did this and that, goes on and on about his teammates, mentions his girlfriend here and there.

He’s in the middle of a story when Simone hears it, a male voice talking in fast Spanish, calling for Álvaro. When Álvaro says something back it sounds muffled, as if he’s putting a hand over the speaker.

“Hey man, uh, I-“ He says, then talks to whoever it is again. “Sorry, I’m at Isco’s and he’s annoying me to get back inside, sorry. I’ll call you later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Simone answers. They both know he won’t. “Yeah.”

“You could. Call me too, I mean. You haven’t, really—“ Álvaro says, then stops himself. Sighs. In the background, the voice he assumes is Isco keeps talking. “So, yeah. Later.”

He hangs up before Simone can say anything else.

 

 

_Álvaro crosses their unspoken line and catches him by surprise._

_They never talk about it, ever. There’s looks, and there’s the staring whenever Álvaro drops him off at his place and they stay in the car for minutes in silence, there’s the touches and the hotel rooms they share and the intimacy that never really leaves, but that’s one thing. That’s as far as Simone would let it go, as far as he’s ever gone with a teammate, a friend. He’s not—He’s not stupid._

_And then Álvaro does his thing when they’re watching a rerun of a Real Madrid game in their hotel room, the thing where says shit in the middle of the night like it’s nothing, and Simone should just act like it doesn’t terrify him._

_“I used to miss him so much.” He says. They’re sitting in Álvaro’s bed for the night, shoulder to shoulder. “Isco. When I got here, I missed everyone, but I missed him the most.” There’s an adoration in his voice when he says it, mixed with nostalgia and something else Simone doesn’t want to place._

_“Used to?” Simone asks, a few minutes later, when he finds his voice again. He prays quietly that Álvaro won’t do it, won’t tell him what he already knows, won’t talk about the thing between him and the other guy._

_“Yeah.” Álvaro says. He turns his eyes away from the TV and looks straight at him. “Yeah. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”_

_“He’s your best mate, right? It’s okay to miss him.” Simone tries awkwardly. Álvaro outright laughs, and he knows he doesn’t mean to be cruel._

_“He’s—Well now he is just that, I guess. He used to be more than...” He says, then shrugs, like it’s nothing, and something inside Simone twists and turns because of the way he says it, looking straight at him while Simone stares at the TV and pretends he’s infinitely interested in Benzema trying to score._

_“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”_

_Simone looks at him, then. He doesn’t look sorry at all, just partly scared and like he’s waiting for something Simone’s too much of a coward to give._

_“It’s ok, it’s—“_

_“Are you going to—Will you ever…” Álvaro says, licks his lips, and Simone knows because he’s staring, sees the tip of his tongue peeking between his lips. Álvaro doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Are you ever going to kiss me?_

_“I don’t know.” He says. “Sorry, I don’t know.”_

_“Ok.” Álvaro says, and he’s not mad. In fact, he smiles, genuine and bright, like they’re sharing a joke, like Simone’s not having a breakdown because he can’t do something like this, can’t just talk about kissing his teammate like it’s something he does every day._

_“Man, look at Navas, he’s like a fucking wall…” Álvaro says, like the talk they had moments before never happened, except that his foot is hooked under Simone’s, and Simone grabs Álvaro’s hand. He’s too fucking scared to move and they both fall asleep on Álvaro’s bed._

_When he wakes up he rushes to the shower, and pretends he didn’t wake up with Álvaro asleep on his chest and his nose buried in Álvaro’s hair._

 

 

He avoids watching Real Madrid games at all costs, because when he does, he sees it. When they text now, which is rarely ever, they are all he talks about. Isco this, Marco that, and the closer he gets to them the more he pulls away from Simone and, well. It’s not like he didn’t expect it.  

So he stops answering calls, takes days to answer his texts. He pulls away first.

 

 

_“I don’t think I’m staying.” Álvaro confesses when it’s just the two of them in the hotel room. “I need to… I want to enjoy this, because I don’t think I’m staying. There are talks going on and I don’t know.”_

_“Hey, man, come on. It’s celebration day, we won the league. Come on, don’t think about that.” Simone says, because he doesn’t want to think about it either._

_“I know, I just don’t wanna regret anything.” He says, and Simone breathes out heavily. Okay, he thinks._

_“Okay.”_

_Álvaro looks at him like he knows something, and he does, because Simone thinks, fuck it. He grabs him by the shirt and it’s soaked with champagne, they both are, they need a shower and a change of clothes and to sober up for two seconds but he doesn’t care anymore. He kisses him._

_Álvaro smiles into the kiss for long enough to make him pull away, but pulls him in again just as soon and then they’re kissing for real, hot and slow and he can feel the burn of Álvaro’s beard scratching against his face as he licks into his mouth. He tastes sweet and smells like sweat and grass and alcohol and Simone’s dizzy with it._

_He laughs against Álvaro’s mouth._

_“You stink.”_

_“So do you, asshole.” Álvaro says, and kisses him again, quick. “Come shower with me.”_

_“Okay.”_

_He lets Álvaro pull him into the bathroom, presses him against the door as soon as they close it. He knows he’s going to regret it later because people can’t just keep things this good._

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know


End file.
